


The Line

by LittleSweetCheeks



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: Emotional Infidelity, F/M, Infidelity, bad idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28485861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSweetCheeks/pseuds/LittleSweetCheeks
Summary: Somewhere along the line, shtupping his boss stopped being the one thing he could never imagine doing.
Relationships: Elizabeth McCord/Blake Moran
Comments: 24
Kudos: 8





	The Line

**Author's Note:**

> Blame Mmacy. 
> 
> Also- I am planning on taking January off from posting new works, so Happy New Year and we'll see how long that plan lasts...

_His_ first time doesn’t even involve her and he’s too embarrassed afterward, because he’s ninety-odd percent sure his hand ended up somewhere mortifying, to really acknowledge that no one even cares.

It was their first trip up to New York, not two months into Secretary McCord’s reign over State and in three days they’d collectively slept maybe six hours. On the flight back, they all succumbed quickly to the Sandman and Blake wakes up an hour later slumped against the curve of the plane’s cabin with Nadine asleep against him.

 _Cuddled_ into him.

The cabin is cold and she’s in a sleeveless blouse, her blazer acting as a thin blanket over her arms and shoulders, bare feet tucked onto the seat beside her and apparently his body knew she was there, even if he didn’t, because his arm is around her protectively.

He really wants someone to shove him out a door at thirty thousand feet and is too focused on who to ask to even process when she wakes and shrugs it off, pushing curls out of her face with a casual thank you and a passing teasing remark about how he was warm and soft and she’ll remember that for next time.

=MS=

His _second_ time _does_ involve her, but only because DoD’s crappy feelings on what the Secretary of State deserves forced the whole situation to begin with.

The staff portion of the plane’s cabin holds eight. When they travel together, which is a lot of the time, they take up six.

Somewhere between the first trip and the seventh, a habit forms of Matt, Jay, and Daisy sitting together, leaving him to join Nadine and the Secretary.

They’re over the Atlantic and Matt and Daisy are asleep together because they’ve given up trying to fool anyone and Jay’s slumped like a marionette with cut strings, one leg hanging off the seats while the other juts out into the aisle.

Across the table, in stark contrast to Jay, Nadine is primly propped sideways in her seat, shoes off and ankles crossed, her feet barely touching the armrest. They’ve mused before that when she sleeps like that, she looks for all the world like she’s only resting her eyes, still listening to them, except for one key factor- with her head tipped back against the window, mouth open the tiniest bit, Nadine snores.

In his own seat, Blake’s already shed everything that makes sleeping a near impossibility and then does his best to sleep upright, waking later to find the Secretary against his shoulder.

Somewhere in the darkness, and he’s not sure when or where, shoulder becomes chest as their bodies seem to instinctively curl into one another in slumber. He wakes to his boss wrapped in his arms, held firmly to his body with one of her hands resting on his chest.

It’s awkwardly intimate in a way he’s not comfortable with, but everyone else is still sleeping and it’s been a long week and he decides that he’ll let her sleep anyway. At least they’ll both be well-rested when she fires him.

=MS=

Their _second_ time still isn’t even really their _first_ time, not yet. But this time it’s not on a plane and he’s not sure if that’s better or worse.

The job is often not done in Eastern Standard Time and that means many, many odd hours and long days trying to get the rest of the planet to do the one thing that apparently only the McCords are good at- _talking to one another_.

He’s pretty sure the Secretary’s talked to every leader in the lower half of Asia tonight and he doesn’t know about her, but _his_ head is killing him and he wants nothing more than to sleep for a few _days_. His blazer and tie are at his desk now and he sits on her couch, something approximating a snack on the table, as he waits for the latest call to end. He doesn’t plan for it, but winds up asleep stretched out as best as his over six-foot body can on the short piece of furniture.

He vaguely remembers sharp fingers in his shoulder as a voice tells him to move, and then the next thing is a soft hand shaking him followed by brown eyes frowning as he blinks awake.

It’s morning. He’s still on the sofa, only now he’s sporting a migraine and a crick in his neck. It’s only when he tries to sit up and focus on whatever Nadine’s just said that he realizes he can’t. He’s being held down. Held in place.

The Secretary is spooned against him.

=MS=

He loses count after that. Their lives are a series of crises and he understands why the turnover at their level is often so high. Why relationships like Matt and Daisy happen.

Sadly, he knows by know what style of underwear Matt and Jay prefer, what shoe sizes Daisy, Nadine, and the Secretary are, the same size surprisingly, and even what he’s looking for when someone… anyone… asks of someone has seen a missing watch or necklace.

They spend way too much time together. He’d had long-term relationships less intimate than what he has with his coworkers.

Not a single person comments on how the Secretary orders him now to take the corner seat on the plane so she can use him as a pillow. They don’t bat an eye when she leans into him in the motorcade or even as they are walking. So, he gets over his weird hang-up that there is a line being crossed and moves on with his life.

They’re at a State Dinner and Henry’s absent, so he’s the stand-in as usual. The Secretary gets away from them, him, and by the time he catches up to her, she’s drunk. The line between ‘just fine’ and ‘time to leave’ is paper thin, he knows that by now, and he considers it his own fault that it’s happened, but now he’s walking her back down to her office while the others make their excuses for her departure.

Alone in her office, he turns just as she has loosened the zipper on her gown and he’s sending up a prayer of thanks that at least the doors are closed because now she’s drunk _and_ wearing nothing more than spikey heels and shapewear that leaves precisely zero work for his imagination.

What’s worse is she doesn’t seem to _care_. She carries on _talking to him_ as she stumbles toward the bathroom to find her other clothes, tripping in her shoes and forcing him, despite himself, to throw his hands out and stop her from crashing to the floor.

The hang-up wars with having a very beautiful, nearly naked, woman in his arms. He can’t decide whether to pull back in a mix of fear and horror or keep holding on because somehow it’s still his _job_ to protect her no matter the personal cost and, despite his better judgement, beautiful and nearly-naked does something to him that he’s determined not to think about.

=MS=

Henry stops being invited to State and White House events entirely and it takes him six months to even catch on. By now he’s simply used to being the plus one so much he doesn’t even ask first, he just talks to the stylist about always including his coordinating accessories with whatever gown the Secretary picks.

They’re riding together back from the White House, his arm is around her shoulders as she rests against him and he thinks that maybe he should revisit that line he’d left behind somewhere on a plane, or maybe a couch, when her hand lands warm on his thigh and doesn’t budge.

He’s thankful… hopeful… that his tux pants hide the twitch of interest that hand causes.

=MS=

Another crisis of Russia’s making and days later he wonders why he doesn’t question it in the moment what she calls him into her office late into the night and all but orders him to lay on the couch so she can curl there with him.

This time, at least, the doors are locked so there is no risk of anyone walking in, but for a week after, each time Nadine looks his way it’s with disappointment heavy in her eyes.

Averting his eyes, he swallows back any defense that tries to break free. If anyone gets to judge him for whatever the hell is going on…

=MS=

 _He’s_ the one drunk when she pounds on his door, determined one night to get to the bottom of the tear he’s been on for days, but he’s too pissed, in multiple senses of the term, to simply relent. Instead he goes for the jugular, hoping to get her to run away, but as his anger boils over something else swirls in her eyes and he forgets what he’s saying.

He’s drunk, much more so than he’s allowed himself to be since taking this damned job, and horny, because he hasn’t gotten laid in months, and it’s not helping that he’s drunk.

Something snaps in him… or possibly her… one minute he’s risking waking the neighbors and the next their lips are together with one of his hands in her hair and one of hers cupping him through his jeans and he’s certain that now he’s not only getting fired, but killed, because he’s one hundred percent sure Henry is as territorial as he looks.

She vanishes and he’s still drunk and horny and for the first time he doesn’t try to talk himself out of jacking off to visions of his boss, nearly naked and beautiful.

=MS=

He dreams of her now and he’s certain it shows on his face each time he’s forced to look her way. Which is often, given what his job is. She wears that sheer white blouse again and for the first time he can’t figure out where to look because his lizard brain says she’s clearly putting on a display for _someone_ , and frankly _he’s_ the only one who gets to see her sans blazer or sweater, and his hands itch to remember the exact shape of the curve of her breast.

He decides he’s going to hell, but at least no one else knows he’s going until he’s being hauled figuratively by his ear to Nadine’s car, not her office, which worries him. He also thinks, based on the look on her face as the car silently heads for somewhere private, that perhaps the only reason he wasn’t _literally_ hauled out by his ear had come down to simple logistics and his ears are thankful he’s a foot taller than her.

In the quiet part of some park she asks him what the hell he’s doing because she knows those looks, she’s worn them, and before he can answer, she goes on. She warns him to not repeat her mistakes and then turns away, voice lowering as she pleads for him to understand. She’s been down this road and it nearly landed her in prison, could still land her in prison…there’s no limit on treason, after all, or worse yet, could have gotten her killed.

Literally, dead in some rigged accident.

That stops him cold. He’s never thought about it and he’s surprised she admits it, but she elaborates that Munsey was cleaning house and she was a loose end. Vincent and then George… it was only a matter of time.

The park is silent until it’s uncomfortable and then she turns, tears in her eyes, and tells him no affair is worth dying for.

He chokes up at the intensity of her emotions, used to her being so walled off, but nods anyway. He has no plans to sleep with his boss.

She starts for the car with a final comment. “Neither did I.”

=MS=

When their first time _really_ happens, he’s not thinking clearly.

There was an incident. Her detail come under fire and he’s told she’s been shot as well and he’s certain if that’s true he’s never returning to DC.

Six hours of chaos and confusion go by, most of which he spends alone because he _has_ been shot, a graze to his thigh that caused massive amounts of bleeding and ruined his favorite trousers… and wingtips… but he’s okay enough to be freaking out that he knows nothing.

He knows nothing and the hospital staff aren’t telling him anything and that could be due in part to the fact that he doesn’t speak the local language, but also could be because his IDs, all of them, were in his satchel which is who the hell knows where and if he’s lost his State ID or his diplomatic passport, well, there’s no point going home anyway.

The red tape on that makes getting shot sound positively delightful.

Jay finally collects him and takes him back to the hotel, assuring him that all injuries were minor. Many stitches all around, but no surgeries. It turned out the detail had gotten a tip and had, at the last minute, forced the Secretary to wear body armor under her clothes and so while, yes, she took shots to the chest, she will be fine.

He’s barely in his room five minutes when she’s pounding on his door… again. This time he’s sober and there’s no yelling, there are no buttons being pushed. Only clothes being stripped away, and his life being ruined.

=MS=

Her laugh makes him hard now. So does that mischievous twinkle in her eyes. He’s not even going to think about how she smells when they’re so close together she’s almost in his arms…or lap.

By contrast, it’s clear Nadine knows, through that weird way she has of knowing everything, that he’s fucked up. Fucked _her_. And the resulting looks from her wilt instantly even the most determined hardness.

It was one time, if he doesn’t count the drunken kiss, which he refuses to. One time can be walked back… they’d nearly died, after all. But then something changes around the office and he can’t work out what it is until he can’t work out how he missed it.

The Secretary no longer talks about her husband and Henry no longer appears around the office. There are no lunch dates, no phone calls to check in, and he’s keenly aware just how much of his life had previously been spent protecting the McCord marriage. The marriage he’s now ruined.

He keeps her at arm’s length until he finds her one night alone at her desk crying and one mistake turns into two on her carpeted floor, which turns into three against the inside of his apartment door, which turns into four in her office bathroom, frozen when someone enters to leave a binder and then leaves again, reminding him that what he’s doing is wrong.

The next little chat _does_ involve ear pain and the heart wrenching explanation that there’s a rumor at the White House that Henry’s moved out and why the hell couldn’t he find a hooker like every other man in government.

=MS=

He feels guilty when she tells the staff about the divorce. He’s to blame, there’s no way around that, but he still can’t bring himself to stop now.

In the SUV, she sits in the middle, always touching him, leaning into him, if anyone else on the team suspects, they don’t say anything, but she’s clearly not hiding her reliance on his presence.

On the plane, it’s much the same as it’s always been as well, just a bit…more. It’s in crowds though where the biggest change occurs. He’s spent years by now at her side, but now she actually holds on, her hand in the crook of his arm and yet no one bats an eye, probably assuming his place supporting her was due to the divorce rather than the cause of it.

Her divorce makes the news and then speculation happens, as it does, about her newly single status and it makes her bold, though she doesn’t warn him the first time she kisses him in her office, door open, and he’s gasping and spluttering still when Nadine steps in and stops, looking between them.

The Secretary shrugs off Nadine’s very vocal concerns about the entire affair and he thinks that maybe he should start calling her by her first name, at least in his thoughts.

He plans to discuss what they’re doing, but they end up in his bed and he thinks the line never was much of a line anyway.

=MS=

She chooses running for president and he knows what’s coming before it comes. America can handle a divorced POTUS, sure, and maybe even a divorced female one… but one that has been shtupping her assistant for years isn’t going to be in the cards.

He’s out in the cold and he knows it.

Worse yet, he’s been warned it would happen, by the very person who was in his place not two cycles ago.

At least he’s not likely to be murdered without warning… He thinks.

Nadine is far from kind about it. He has it coming, and she’s never held back, so he takes it with his mouth firmly shut, eyes downcast.

Elizabeth, because he’s finally gotten used to that, turns up one last time to make it official the day she resigns, and the sex is heartbreaking for him though he hopes it’s freeing for her. He must let go so she can do what needs done.

Two days later, Henry’s the one on his doorstep and he’s bracing himself for what’s to come but is left speechless. The older man doesn’t shout; he doesn’t throw accusations or call names. Instead, he hugs him and then thanks him for treating Elizabeth so well over the years, for giving her what she needed, no matter what, and to the detriment of himself.

He’s stunned silent, but Henry isn’t done. He asks that Blake not give up on the relationship. Elizabeth thinks she can move on, but Henry says he knows better.

When Henry’s gone, Blake stares at nothing for hours, wondering what the hell he’d done to his life and how does he even get over a relationship that never really was.


End file.
